


An Officer and a Batwoman

by backitup_baby



Series: Here Comes Trouble [1]
Category: Batwoman (Comic), DCU - Comicverse, Glee
Genre: (catwoman + damian wayne + the joker), F/F, plus various cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backitup_baby/pseuds/backitup_baby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I'm</i> helping<i>," Quinn snarls, glaring at the officers who're in the process of encircling her and the pervert she had just subdued.</i></p><p>  <i>"That's what they all say." Quinn jerks her head and sighs inwardly when she sees the familiar female cop coming towards her. "All you masked crusaders, hiding in the shadows. You want to do some good? Join the force and show your face."</i></p><p>  <i>Quinn narrows her eyes and tightens her arm around the criminal's neck.</i></p><p>In which former Army Lieutenant Quinn Fabray moonlights as Batwoman and keeps running into Officer Santana Lopez.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Officer and a Batwoman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanderinghope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderinghope/gifts).



> No spoilers for Glee, though there are some (regarding origin) for Batwoman: Elegy. Knowledge of Batwoman canon isn't necessary.
> 
> Title is a play on An Officer and a Gentleman (1982).

“I’m sorry, officer,” Quinn says, trying to make her voice as natural as possible. “I just…” _have a robbery to bust up._ “I really have to be somewhere.”

The cop in front of her shakes her head, the slight smirk on her face indicating that she knows Quinn’s ‘excuse’ is bullshit. “You’ll need to get to this ‘somewhere’ doing 45,” she replies, then turns around to go back to her car to plug in Quinn’s information.

Now alone, Quinn lets out a long exhale and looks up at the Gotham skyline. She’d been tracking these assholes for days and was pretty sure that their heist was planned for tonight. It would’ve been easier if she wasn’t Quinn Fabray, daughter of the Gotham City Fabrays, and hadn’t needed to be on the other side of town for some pointless gala that her stepmom, Judy, had ‘requested’ she attend. 

Quinn looks in her side mirror and lets out a sigh of relief when she finally sees the cop coming back. She knows however much the ticket is, it won’t be an issue for her to afford. And if she leaves now, she can go home, get ready, and be out in the night by midnight - giving her fifteen minutes to get to the supposed scene of the theoretical crime and the vantage point she’d picked out. 

“You’re pushing it, Fabray,” she tells herself, and waits until the cop goes away before sending her car down the road 25 miles over the limit.

–

After struggling into her suit and making sure she has all of her accessories, Quinn adjusts her mask over her face and makes sure her hair falls in just the right way. She applies some lipstick, first, then heads out the window and up the fire escape to the roof. 

“I really have to get one of those batmobiles,” Quinn mutters as she walks over to the roof’s edge. She’s made this jump before, and has done worse, but it’s nervewracking every time. After backing up, Quinn takes a running start and leaps to the next building, then continues onwards. “Maybe Batman will let me borrow his bike next time.”

The heist she’s trying to bust up is a few blocks away, and Quinn gets to her vantage point just in time to have a few moments to catch her breath. She looks down at the sidewalk and forces herself to breathe slow and deep, fingering her baton at the same time just in case she needs it earlier than expected.

Everything begins to proceed according to plan at 12:15. Quinn uses the grappling hook at the end of her baton to quickly rappel down the side of the Gotham National Bank headquarters and pay a pleasant surprise to the thieves looking to make a quick million or two. It doesn’t take long for her to take them out; she’s got a killer right hook and the batarangs on the other end of her baton do a lot to help, too. 

Quinn swipes the back of her hand over her forehead and smirks at the three criminals she tied up to the lamppost with her hook and rope. “That was pathetic,” she says derisively. “You barely even put up a fight.”

And then, almost like she’d jinxed herself, she hears footsteps – loud at first, then further and further away. Quinn glances at the thieves she’d tied up, then takes off in pursuit. Had the whole thing just been a set up? Yeah, this _was_ one of her first nights actively out doing the detective work the Batfamily was known for, and she’d only just started fighting crime in general a few weeks ago, but she’d planned and listened and everything was supposed to be working! 

Gritting her teeth, Quinn keeps running, her cape billowing out behind her. Once she’s a good distance close to her target and has a good angle, she reaches for a batarang. It lodges in the thief’s calf and Quinn inwardly commends herself for aiming to disable, but not kill. When they fall into a limp, reaching down to try to pull out the batarang, Quinn is on them in an instant, holding them down onto the ground and reaching for the bag of money.

“Did you really think it was going to be that easy?” 

The woman underneath her manages to look Quinn over while still struggling for her freedom. “Does Batman know you’re ripping him off? That costume’s a little lackluster if you ask me. It doesn’t look like you’re quite ready for primetime yet.” Quinn’s actually impressed; despite her current position, this thief still has all of her cockiness.

“This coming from someone in a cat costume,” Quinn says, leaning back and pressing down on the leg in order to dig the batarang in deeper. She’s about to add another retort when suddenly she hears the sirens of the GCPD. Quinn knows she’s technically a vigilante, even if she _is_ on the good side of the law, but the cops will throw her in jail and, even worse, unmask her, if they can get their hands on her. She and the… the Catwoman, whatever, they exchange a look and then almost as if on cue, glance up at the GCPD cars that’ve just come to a stop in front of them. 

Quinn squints a little in the bright lights, trying to judge how many police officers are there and how easily she’ll be able to get away. There’s about 4 or 5, which Quinn thinks she’ll be able to handle, but then she catches sight of the cop from earlier. The traffic cop. 

She’s standing there, gun cocked and at the ready, her long dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail, that same easy smirk on her face. “Looks like we got a bat problem in this town,” she remarks, looking directly at Quinn. 

It takes Quinn a moment of telling herself, sternly, that she’s Batwoman right now, not Quinn Fabray. Batwoman wouldn’t be bothered by some hotshot lady cop giving her shit. “ _This_ is your problem,” Quinn counters then, getting up and grabbing hold of the Catwoman’s costume, near the neck. She’s still got the batarang lodged in her leg, so Quinn waits until the cops are ready before she reaches down, retrieves the batarang, and shoves the Catwoman at the cops. And after they grab ahold of her, Quinn leaps up and catches the side of a fire escape, then climbs her way up and away before the police can react.

–

A few weeks later, Quinn has stopped 9 muggings, a few attempted robberies, and even put a stop to some kidnappings. The cops, though, are becoming a serious liability. 

“I’m _helping_ ,” Quinn snarls, glaring at the officers who’re in the process of encircling her and the pervert she had just subdued.

“That’s what they all say.” Quinn jerks her head and sighs inwardly when she sees the familiar female cop coming towards her. “All you masked crusaders, hiding in the shadows. You want to do some good? Join the force and show your face.”

Quinn narrows her eyes and tightens her arm around the criminal’s neck. “Like half of you aren’t being paid off by the Falcones,” she scoffs, a statement that elicits surprised murmurs from the rest of the police officers surrounding her.

“Join the force,” the cop repeats, adjusting her aim slightly. “Change it from the inside if you’re so fucking concerned with how we do our business.”

Quinn grinds her teeth, so irritated with this cop who seriously seemed to show up every time she was actually getting it right. And of course, her prisoner takes the opportunity Quinn’s distraction is affording him, driving his elbow into her batsuit and stomach. The suit takes some of the impact, but the hit is still enough to startle Quinn. Grinning, baring his teeth, the criminal drives his hand up into Quinn’s face and mask, and the blood begins to run almost immediately. 

“Shit,” she bites out, instinct causing her to put her hand up to assess the damage before remembering her place. Quinn grabs hold of her baton and aims the batarang-tipped end, landing it squarely to take him down. 

_I can’t bleed all over the scene,_ Quinn thinks to herself, somewhat frantic now. _They can’t be able to track who I am._ Again, she makes sure that the cops are successfully taking him down before fleeing around the corner.

–

At Gotham Central Hospital the next day, Quinn is waiting in the lobby to be seen, her nose swollen and red. She’s pretty sure it’s broken, but her father insisted she go and it’s hard to disobey Colonel Fabray. He doesn’t know, of course, that she’s the Batwoman they’ve been talking about in the news lately, and she hopes he continues to not notice that someone’s been pilfering some of his military equipment.

“You reading that, Rudolph?” 

Quinn jerks her head up and stares at the cop who’s been dogging her the past few crime scenes. Rudolph? The look on her face must indicate her confusion, because the woman’s talking again.

“The Gotham Gazette you’re holding upside down. You reading it?”

“Are you usually this rude to strangers?” Quinn says icily. She keeps her hold on the Gazette for now, though, because she doesn’t want to reward this kind of behavior.

The cop sits down heavily next to her, without even waiting for an invitation. “You’re no stranger. Everyone in Gotham knows you. Quinn Fabray, daughter of Colonel Russell Fabray.” Quinn inclines her head slightly to acknowledge the correct statement, so the other woman continues. “West Point graduate. You got commissioned and everything and were set to continue in the Army and follow in daddy’s footsteps until your mom’s tragic death a few years ago.” 

Quinn braces herself for a snide comment about this, but none comes. She’s actually surprised. Apparently this cop has a tiny sliver of a soul.

“You’re always in the tabloids now,” the cop is saying as she idly twirls a strand of her dark hair around one finger. Quinn realizes suddenly she’s staring at her mouth and brings her gaze back up to her dark eyes. “Pals with Bruce Wayne, which makes sense since the Fabrays and the Waynes own pretty much all of good old Gotham. If the rumors are to be believed, you’re in some kinda weird bethrothal your parents cooked up when you guys were kids.”

“No betrothal,” Quinn says quickly, shaking her head. The memories are coming back to her now, though, all in a rush.

–

_It was true that she and Bruce had known each other since forever, though they’d drifted apart in the years after Bruce’s parents had been murdered. It hadn’t been until after she’d come home from West Point and the incident had happened with her own mother that Bruce had reached out. By then, he’d taken control of his family’s company and had strengthened the ties with the Fabrays’. He understood what she was going through, and it was nice to have someone to talk to._

_That had been when she was 23. A few years later, when she was 25, Quinn had been cornered in an alley by some would-be rapists. Thank God for her military training, though, because despite her heels she’d been able to kick their asses without barely breaking a sweat. Batman had shown up anyway, a few minutes later when she had been trying to catch her breath. He’d taken a look at the bodies on the ground and nodded a little, recognizing that he wasn’t needed anymore. He was about to turn and leave but after catching a glimpse of her face, he must have realized who she was. Batman hadn’t said much, but it was something about the concern he was trying to hide that made her wonder._

_“Bruce?” she’d whispered, and he’d shaken his head slightly and disappeared in the shadows._

_The next day, he’d paid a visit to the Fabray estate. “Quinn,” he started, a small worried look on his face._

_“You can trust me,” she’d said quickly, and wasn’t surprised at all to find that she meant it. She couldn’t help but smile at the relief that was instantly evident on Bruce’s face. His happiness was short-lived, though, and all but disappeared at her next words. “But I… I want to…” She glanced around to make sure that no one was listening, then continued. “Batman has Robin already. There’s strength in numbers; just ask the armed forces. You’ve already seen what I can do._

_Bruce shook his head. “Too dangerous,” he said, just like Quinn’d known he would. “I’m not letting you do this just because you took down some drunks.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking far older than she knew he really was. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Gotham is…”_

_“I’ve lived here just as long as you have, and just because I’ve only lost one parent compared to you doesn’t mean I don’t want to get all the scum out just as much as you do,” Quinn had snapped. “They took away my mother. Your parents, too. I’m not going to say I know how hard it was for you to grow up like that, but you can’t be everywhere at once. I can help. Just try me.” She paused, then added, “Besides, I already know who you are, and I won’t take no for an answer.”_

–

Quinn jerks out of her memories to the sounds of the cop saying, “Earth to Rudolph,” over and over. She waves her hand in front of Quinn’s face, that smirk back on her face, before just reaching out and taking the Gazette out of Quinn’s hand. “And how’d Gotham’s darling socialite and Lieutenant – former Lieutenant? – Quinn Fabray, get a broken nose, anyway?”

“You sure are nosy, aren’t you?” Quinn narrows her eyes, her bottom lip involuntarily extending out in a pout when the other woman starts laughing at her words.

“Oh, good pun.” Quinn glares even more, annoyed that it isn’t working on this cop. Most people usually quail at it by this point. “Not as nosy as you are, Rudolph.”

“My name is Quinn Fabray. You know my name. Use it…” She squints her eyes and looks down at the cop’s badge. “Officer Lopez.”

“Santana Lopez.” That smirk is back again, and Quinn bites her lip in response. Most of their previous run-ins were during some tense situations, and now that they’re technically exchanging names, she’s finally taking a real look at her. _She’s… beautiful. In an annoying kind of way._ “Nice to meet you, Quinn Fabray, for real.” 

Quinn stares at the extended hand in front of her before coming to her senses and shaking it with her own. “You too. Santana Lopez.”

–

When she comes out of her appointment with a freshly straightened nose, Santana is waiting for her. “Quinn Fabray,” she says, and Quinn is surprised to realize she’s starting to like the way her name rolls off of the other woman’s tongue.

“Santana Lopez,” Quinn replies, pretty sure she doesn’t have a choice in terms of having some unexpected company this afternoon. For some reason, she finds that she doesn’t really mind. “Are you going to follow me out of here? Because we’ll need to go out the back. I need to _not_ have the paparazzi see me like this.”

Just as she expected, Santana continues walking next to her. Then, all of a sudden, she breaks the silence with something Quinn doesn’t expect at all. “You free Friday night? Come have a drink with me.”

Quinn bites her lip again, this time to suppress a surprised smile. “What makes you think I want to have a drink with someone who keeps insulting me?”

“Oh honey, this isn’t ‘insulting,’” Santana says with a smug smile. “You’ll soon learn that I’m just naturally kind of a bitch.”

“So I’m seeing,” Quinn confirms, glancing away because it’s growing harder to stop herself from smiling. Whoever this smartass cop is, she’s doing a damned good job of making Quinn think about something else besides everything she’s lost. “Fine. Yes.”

Santana’s smile turns into a broad grin. “Schmidt’s at 11. That’s when I get off.” Her grin stays the same, but there’s something about her eyes that makes it clear that Quinn is free to take that as a double entendre.

It works and right away, Quinn can tell she’s blushing. She looks away again for a moment then, wondering if she really can afford this kind of distraction right now. She’s only just gotten started in her new gig as Batwoman, and given her history with dalliances like this – She brings her gaze back to meet Santana’s. “I actually may have something going on this Friday.”

For what it’s worth, Quinn notices that Santana actually looks somewhat taken aback. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says after a moment, recovering somewhat smoothly. “I just thought… Well, if you end up not having that thing on Friday, let’s meet up. As friends. I’m going to give you my number.” 

“As friends,” Quinn echoes, retrieving her phone from her purse and handing it over so Santana can type in the number. “I’ll let you know.”

–

The next night, Quinn gets back to her apartment at 4 in the morning, swearing loudly. She braces her hand on the wall and stares down at her right ankle, then flexes it and winces. “Fuck fuck fuck,” she says, pulling her boot off to take a closer look.

It’s times like these that she seriously hates this. She was never meant to be Batwoman. She was supposed to go to West Point, serve and honor her country, then marry an upstanding man, preferably someone who’d further the status of the Fabray family. She wasn’t supposed to barely graduate and be told that one stupid mistake she’d made meant that under ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ she couldn’t continue on in the Army. She wasn’t supposed to come home early. And maybe if she hadn’t been back unexpectedly, she and her mother wouldn’t have been out shopping that one night. Those asshole cowards wouldn’t have –

Quinn makes it over to the couch and, after catching a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror, takes the batmask off. She leans back against the cushions and, closing her eyes, wonders why she’s strangely near tears. “Fuck.” After a few minutes of forcing herself to take deep breaths, she opens her eyes again and reaches for her phone. She hadn’t run into any cops, not this night, so it wasn’t like it was a risky maneuver or anything. Santana was probably out doing something else… coppish.

_It’s Quinn._

The answer comes almost immediately.

**well arent you up late.**

_You know. Just got in from a gala._ Quinn hits send and forces herself to get up and start changing out of the Batwoman costume.

**shift ended a few minutes ago so good timing. how was the party?**

_Just okay. Sprained my ankle, I think._

**your probably the most clumsy ass heiress ive ever met.**

_*You’re._

**shut the fuck up.**

Once the costume and accessories are securely hidden away, Quinn half-paces, half-hobbles over to her kitchen in order to pour herself a drink. She types out a message, deliberates over it, then ends up eventually pressing send a few minutes later. _Want to come over? As friends._

**give me the address and im there.**

Quinn allows herself a brief smile before she presses her lips together, denying it again. She sends the address, then gets another glass out of the cabinet.

–

Santana is wearing plain clothes when she shows up twenty minutes later; her jeans are dirty and her hair looks tangled as hell. Quinn, who's already had two and a half drinks, isn’t sure she’s ever seen anyone look so attractive.

“So, Officer Lopez,” she says, drawing out the ‘z.’ “You know a disturbing amount about me. It’s time you evened out the score.”

Santana laughs and takes a drink from her own glass, tucking her legs up underneath her on the couch and turning to face Quinn better. “I grew up in the East End. That should tell you all you need to know, since you probably grew up being told never to go through my part of Gotham City. I went to school, decided it pissed me off that my parents always had to deal with assholes stealing the little they were able to make. Joined the GCPD and now I’m here.”

It occurs to Quinn, vaguely, that she could’ve easily just become a cop. But at the same time, she remembers what Santana had said when they’d unknowingly faced off a few weeks ago: _You want to do some good? Join the force and show your face._ And her own retort: _Like half of you aren’t being paid off by the Falcones._ And it was true. All of Gotham knew that 95% of the politicians, the cops, everyone who was supposed to protect the people were just as bad as the people terrorizing them directly on the streets. “You really think you’re one of the good ones?” she hears herself asking after a moment. She stares directly at her, almost as though she were willing her to tell the truth.

“Trying my hardest to be,” Santana says evenly, staring back at Quinn. “We could use more of the good ones on the force.”

Quinn nods, slightly, and takes a longer drink this time. Her face feels hot and the room is starting to spin. She silently wishes she hadn’t always been a lightweight. “I– good,” she says, awkwardly, and Santana laughs.

“We both know Gotham’s a mess. But you actually have the means to leave here,” Santana says, tilting her head slightly and looking intently across at Quinn. “Why not go to Metropolis or New York or something?”

“I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t ever occurred to me,” Quinn says. She glances down and wonders how her hand found its way to Santana’s knee. “But Gotham’s my home. There’s a part of me that feels this weird… loyalty.” She laughs then, somewhat wrly. “I guess it’s that whole Army school thing.” 

“Not a lot of socialites have prior aspirations of going into the armed forces,” Santana replies, almost approvingly. “Seems pretty one-of-a-kind, Lieutenant Fabray.”

Quinn wonders if she really even deserves to be addressed with the title anymore. She’s just a civilian now, after what happened. “I try, Officer Lopez,” she returns, unable to stop herself from adding a flirty smile in Santana’s direction.

Santana laughs, her eyes flashing in a way that makes Quinn’s stomach do a backflip. “You sure you’re straight, Lieutenant?” she teases. 

The question catches Quinn off guard, and after a moment of sitting there, frozen, she tipsily shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says, and both of them look down at her hand on Santana’s knee. She remembers again, the look on her parents’ faces when she’d arrived home after her army dismissal, how disappointed her superiors were when she had been forced to confess her discretions, her resolute refusal to lie about what and who she was back then. Maybe she didn’t really talk about it a lot anymore, but it wasn’t like she was in denial or like, had issues about it… Steeling herself, Quinn looks up at Santana again. “I’m not.”

Santana nods, taking that in. “And this isn’t something people know about.”

“No,” Quinn whispers, then tells herself to stop being weak. She hadn't been, once upon a time. “But maybe… one day,” she says then, louder. “There’s just a lot that I’m dealing with right now.” _Like stealing my father’s military equipment for illegal vigilante crimefighting. Do you know how hard it is to balance that with your crazy stepmother’s demands for your social life?_

“Aww, you’re a gayby,” Santana says, putting her hand gently over Quinn’s and pronouncing the word to rhyme with ‘baby.’ “That’s cute. You’re cute.”

Quinn nods, a little self-conscious at first, then smiles. “You’re pretty easy on the eyes too, Officer.”

Santana tips her glass back, draining its contents, before leaning in. Her eyes never leave Quinn’s all the while. “I’m going to kiss you, Lieutenant. Prepare yourself.”

She has just enough time to think that the alcohol is really getting to her head before she’s retorting, “You prepare _your_ –” After that, Quinn’s cut off by the press of Santana’s lips against her own. She opens her mouth slightly, wanting to give just enough of a welcome for Santana to recognize that Quinn doesn’t want her to stop. 

Quinn opens her eyes long enough to set her glass down on the coffee table, then brings her now-free hand up to tangle it in Santana’s hair. 

Fueled by the alcohol she’d had to drink, Santana wastes no time in beginning to shift, pulling her legs up onto the couch and leaning forward and half-onto Quinn. “What a surprising turn of events,” she quips. Quinn swears her heart does a flutter once that lazy smirk appears back on Santana’s face. 

“You kissed me,” Quinn says, her voice shaky. “You shouldn’t have done that if you weren’t prepared for the consequences.” Consequences? She winces inwardly at how unsexy she sounds, and tries to make up for it with her next statement. “What are you waiting for?” she asks then, looking up at Santana. “You have me, so come and get me.”

Santana, though, just laughs and smiles down at Quinn. “You’re a little tipsy.”

“I know,” Quinn says, a little shyly. She reaches up and traces the contour of Santana’s jaw with her fingertips. “Is that a problem, Officer?”

“I’m not going to take advantage of you,” Santana says, a statement that’s actually somewhat surprising to Quinn. She’s impressed, though. While she doesn’t want them to stop kissing or anything, she isn’t sure she’s ready to have sex with someone on the first date. So they’re on the same page, which is actually… nice. 

Maybe this letting people in thing isn’t so bad, Quinn thinks to herself, and smiles, more than tipsily, up at Santana. “It’s the middle of the night, and you of all people know how much of a mess Gotham is around this time. Stay the night?”

“Sure,” Santana says easily, leading down to kiss Quinn again. “I already packed an extra pair of underwear in my purse, just in case.”

–

A loud ringing sound wakes Quinn up the next morning, and she bolts awake looking for the source. Next to her, Santana is half-sleepily, half-frantically doing the same,and eventually she finds her cell phone and answers it. “Lopez,” she says, her tone of voice surprisingly business-like despite her being sound asleep a moment ago. “What? Right _now_? I’m kind of… Oh. Shit. Okay. I’ll be right there.”

“What’s going on?” Quinn asks, rubbing blurry eyes just in time to see Santana stand up, shimmy out of the underwear she was wearing last night, and change into the pair she’d brought (so that hadn’t been just a line…) She ignores the sudden pang of arousal and tries to focus on the fact that it sounds like something very wrong is going on.

“The Joker,” Santana says shortly, looking around to make sure she has all of her things, and it’s enough to make Quinn go into a state of high alert. 

“What do they want you to do?” Quinn asks, trying to get as much information out of this as possible. Except wait – she can’t show up as Batwoman, not with Santana there. Santana might recognize her, and while this woman in Quinn’s bedroom is seriously attractive and obviously a capable cop, she doesn’t know if she can actually trust her to keep her secret. 

Santana finds her way back into her pants, then looks over at Quinn. “Just the required police presence. At the fucking _school_ , of all places. Batman and that weird sidekick of his are already there, so I probably won’t actually have to do much while those costumed freaks get in the way of a crime scene that is _technically_ –” She stops herself midsentence, a look of annoyance on her face, and leans down to quickly kiss Quinn’s cheek. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Quinn says, putting a hand up to her cheek and watching Santana leave. 

She sits there for a while, debating with herself. If Bruce and Damian are there, she probably wouldn’t really need to contribute much, and she could just stay home and hope for the best, just like the rest of Gotham. (Her ankle still feels sore as hell, too.) Besides, it was the middle of the day, too, and her costume was really better suited for cloaking her in the night’s shadows. 

But when she told Bruce she wanted to help, to be Batwoman, she’d told him that she wanted to serve. If she stayed home just because she was worried her – Except Santana wasn’t her _anything,_ so what was she even so worried about? And if Santana was going to get in the way of her doing what she was meant to be doing, then it wasn’t meant to be.

–

Just like she thought, Bruce and Damian definitely have this one all wrapped up. She watches from the second-story roof of a nearby building as two cops subdue and handcuff the Joker while another one – _Santana_ – is standing in front of him, probably reading him his rights. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Bruce and Damian making their getaway in the batmobile, and she lifts her hand up in a slight wave.

Fixing her attention back on the crime scene, she startles as suddenly, Santana looks up in her direction. Quinn stares back, noticing, even from afar, how Santana’s nose wrinkles like she’s trying to figure something out. She can almost sense Santana’s mind spinning away, suddenly making sense of all of the crime scenes Batwoman’d been present at, and the injury Quinn’d had when they had met in the hospital’s waiting room. 

Then Santana opens her mouth and mouths one word:

_Quinn?_


End file.
